


The Witch Queen of New Orleans

by Whedonista93



Series: Spooky Season 2020 [23]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Hoodoo, New Orleans, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: Darcy Lewis has never been to New Orleans. Marie LeBeau rules it.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Darcy Lewis
Series: Spooky Season 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958881
Comments: 29
Kudos: 212





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was initially going to save this for my final Spooky Season fic, then I realized I was up to my 200th fic overall, and that seemed significant enough. In case you can't tell... I kinda love how this fic turned out. <3

_Marie, Marie Le, Voodoo, Beau_

_She'll put a spell on you_

_Marie, Marie Le, Voodoo, Beau_

_She's the Witch Queen ah_

_Of New Orleans, of New Orleans_

Marie LeBeau wraps herself in glamour and protection. She carries drawstring bags of panacea in her pockets. The very air around her shimmers with spells she has yet to cast. She wears amulets around her neck, charms around her wrists, and the King of the Thieves ring on her left hand. Everyone in New Orleans knows Marie LeBeau.

*

Marie leans over the balcony railing, relishing the sight of downtown New Orleans from this high up. She takes in a deep breath, letting the thick air, and the heavy essence of the city, fill her lungs.

A pair of arms wrap around her waist. “ _Ma reine_. Surveyin’ y’r kingdom?”

“Remy,” Marie greets, leaning against him and resting her hands over his arms. “Our kingdom, _mon amour_.”

*

“I would’n’ do that if I was you, _écume_ ,” Remy warns.

The mobster scoffs. Remy hasn’t bothered trying to learn his name. “King of the Thieves, they call you. I’m not impressed. You really should have a better network in your own city.”

Remy grins lazily. “It is not my city.”

“They call you the king.”

Remy shrugs. “Of the Thieves Guild, _oui_. N’Orleans is ruled by a queen.”

The mobster scoffs. “Are you saying I’m supposed to be scared of a woman?”

A pile of gold chains appears on the ground between Remy and the mobster.

The mobster leans down and snatches one up. He frowns at the emblem hanging from it. “This is the sigil my men wear.”

Remy nods. “ _Oui_. You think she gon’ let you just take her city? _Non_ , no chance.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice a slew of East Coast _serpents_ on my streets?” An eerie, feminine voice drifts from the shadows.

“Show yourself!” The mobster demands.

Marie steps from the shadows, dressed head to toe in black and purple, golden charms tinkling, face painted. “New Orleans is mine. You are nothing but an _envahir_. You are not welcome.”

“My men?”

“ _Ne pas revenir_.”

“Gone,” Remy supplies helpfully.

“Go home,” Marie warns. “Tell your friends. Tell your enemies. New Orleans is not to be touched by your pathetic little mobs.”

“N’Orleans is ruled by a higher power, _connard_ , and she suffers no fools,” Remy smirks.

Marie frowns. “Speaking of _imbéciles_ , you kidnapped my husband. I cannot let that go unpunished.”


	2. Chapter 2

_She lived in a world of magic_

_Possessed by the devil's skew_

_From a shack near the swampland with a mud-pie brick_

_Marie stirred her witch's brew_

Marie Lewis lives in the middle of the swamp. She grows herbs in floating gardens and wades into the water without fear of the creatures lurking beneath the surface. She always has gumbo on the stove, and a potion bubbling over the open fire. Vevé are painted on her walls. Goofer dust is mixed into the mud sealing her windows. Charms line the shelves along her walls.

*

“ _Bonjour cheri_ ,” a lilting voice greets from the doorway.

Remy looks up and sees a woman in the doorway of the little swamp shack. He’s not quite sure what he expected when he was told of the witch queen, but the woman staring at him with a smirk on her lips is a pleasant surprise. He half expected a shriveled old crone in white robes and a turban.

Marie Lewis is short and curvy, with laughing green eyes lined in kohl, and lips as red as blood. Her hair is a riot of chestnut curls haloing her head, held back from her face by a deep purple scarf. A dark linen shirt, the laces undone enough to reveal a hint of cleavage, is tucked into a patchwork skirt that brushes the tops of her bare feet. Her skirt is caked in mud up to her knees. 

“Have I stolen your voice, _Roi des Voleurs_?”

Remy grins. “You’ve heard of me, _charmante_?”

Marie smirks back. “I have heard of everyone in my city, _Monsieur_ LeBeau.”

*

Remy courts her with a level of old fashioned charm. He sweet talks her out of her swamp and into the nightlife of New Orleans. He takes her to jazz festivals downtown and cafes that have been around since the city’s early days. 

A _La Belle Augustine_ bust appears on the small ledge in her sitting room, and it takes all her significant willpower not to start casting charms to find out if it’s the original. A blue and white pot, that he tells her upfront is a Joseph Meyer original, is set on her kitchen counter. He’s the closest she’s ever seen him to shy when he offers a deck of tarot cards - the sealant not quite dry, and flecks of paint still visible on his hands - from his pocket.

He promises the ring he proposes with was stolen from a very unscrupulous character, and she accepts it, but she demands one of the rings from his own hand as a wedding band.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dime or a nickel any one could buy_

_Voodoo of any kind_

_She had potions and lotions, herbs and tanna leaves_

_Guaranteed to blow your mind_

Darcy Lewis has never been to New Orleans, but she etches tiny, detailed vevé into the Avenger’s gear. She fills everyone’s bathrooms with earthy smelling soaps and sweetly scented lotions. Everyone’s kitchen cabinets are filled with teas mixed from home grown herbs. She murmurs quiet chants over pots of gumbo. An assortment of simple dolls, painted in the Avengers colors, sit in a protective circle on a side table in her bedroom. A well worn stack of hand-painted tarot cards are tucked into her top dresser drawer.

*

“You’re magic, Darcy girl,” Bucky murmurs, tucking him under his arm.

Darcy scoffs. “It’s nothing.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Bullshit.”

Darcy scrunches her nose.

Bucky shrugs his left shoulder, indicating the vevé only the two of them know is etched into the underside of. “A bullet hit me today, Darcy. Should’ve gone right into my heart. It went right through me.”

*

“I don’t have nightmares when I drink this one,” Steve tells her, just above a whisper, pulling a tin of tea from one of the shelves in the communal kitchen.

Darcy smiles softly. “I’ll drop a fresh tin off at your apartment tonight.”

*

“Do you have any more of that oil you left on my counter last week?” Natasha asks.

Darcy shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll pay you for more,” Natasha offers. “It got out a rust spot that’s been on one of my favorite knives for over a year.”

Darcy chuckles. “I’ll start a new batch tonight.”

*

“What was that song you were singing in the kitchen last week?” Bruce asks.

Darcy shrugs. “I don’t know all the words. I Googled it. I think it’s Hoodoo.”

“It calmed the other guy down,” Bruce admits.

“I’ll learn the rest of it,” Darcy promises.

*

“Hold still,” Darcy admonishes.

Clint stills sheepishly. “It hurts.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Darcy slathers a thick layer of salve over the mottled bruising on his shoulder. “This will help.”

“Darce, it’s just… _ohhh_.”

Darcy grins smugly.

“That’s… warm,” Clint sighs happily.

“It will help your muscles relax so it heals right. And heals faster.” She kisses her fingers, then presses them over his shoulder. “Can’t have your bow arm out of commission.”

“You’re a saint.”

Darcy snorts. “Hardly.”

*

“Intern!”

Darcy glances up from her notepad. “What, Stark?”

“Pepper is making me go to a meeting with some mook from Jersey,” Tony whines, “and my P.A. is out sick. Dinner on me if you come sit and pretend to take notes. Make me look important.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “You’re Tony Stark.”

“Which is why I shouldn’t show up to a meeting by myself.”  
Darcy gorans and shoves to her feet. “Fine, but you’re taking me somewhere nice.”

Tony crosses an ‘X’ over his heart with his finger. “Let’s go.”

Darcy glances down at her clothes. The gray, long-sleeved maxi dress and sheer purple cardigan don’t exactly scream professional personal assistant, but it’s better than leggings and an oversized sweater. She follows Tony to one of the conference rooms and rolls her eyes, but sits when Tony holds out the chair at the head of the table for her.

“ _She_ works for you?!” The ‘Jersey mook’ nearly screeches.

There’s something vaguely familiar about the guy, but Darcy can’t put her finger on what. She chalks it up to all Jersey mobsters looking vaguely the same and simply raises one brow at the man. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

He eyes her suspiciously, then throws his hands in the air and stalks out of the room, muttering about witches.

Tony blinks after him, then down at Darcy. “If all meetings go that quick around you, I’m taking you with me to all of them from now on. Did you know him?”

Darcy shrugs. “Hell if I know… you still owe me dinner.”

Tony glances at his watch. “Wanna make it lunch?”

*

Loki tilts his gaze toward Darcy, then smirks at Thor. “You do manage to find the most interesting mortals, brother. Why have I not met this one before?”

“Because I don’t associate with homicidal maniacs,” Darcy answers without looking up from her book.

“Peace, brother,” Thor pleads.

“I mean no harm.” He squints at Darcy. “Mortal is not quite accurate, though, it is?”

Darcy finally looks up. “What?”

Loki smirks. “Are you truly so unaware of the magic beneath your own skin?”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “I’m not magic.”

Loki’s expression shifts into something almost soft. “Oh, but you are, your highness.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Early one mornin' into mucky swamp dew_

_Vanished Marie with hate in her eye_

_Though she'll never return all the Cajuns knew_

_A witch queen never die_

Remy LeBeau is as much legend as man. A mutant whose power has few limits. The King of the Thieves Guild. He carries a bo staff as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He hides his eyes even in the dark. He carries a deck of cards in his pocket, and power literally glows at his fingers. He travels even the deepest, darkest recesses of the swamps with no fear. He’s married to the Witch Queen, some say.

*

Remy is in New York, fulfilling a favor to Logan, when Katrina hits. He gets back to New Orleans as quick as he can, but it’s already too late. The swamp is higher than he’s ever seen it, but even when it goes down, he can’t find even the barest hint of his Marie’s old shack. Nor can he find Marie.

*

He hates to admit that he’s lost hope of finding her over the years. By the time he finds her, he’s actually stopped looking. Logan drags him to some superhero mixer at Stark Tower. Nick Fury is supposedly trying to play nice with Professor Xavier, so Stark is footing the bill for a fucking gala, hosting the Avengers, the X-Men, and all manner of associates on both sides.

Remy is tugging uncomfortably at his tie when he sees her across the dance floor. Just from the back, at first. It’s her hair that catches his attention, a riot of dark brown curls, hinting flashes of red under the light. Then her dress. The gossamer skirt barely brushes the floor, and the back scoops daringly low down her back. She throws her head back and laughs then, baring her neck and revealing a familiar beauty mark. Even if he couldn’t see her… he would recognize that laugh. He’s across the floor and standing at her shoulder before he even realizes he’s moving.

She’s smiling, and her green eyes are shining, when she looks up at him. When he doesn’t say anything, she arches an eyebrow.

“Marie?”

* * *

_Marie is bent over her cauldron, silently cursing herself. She should have picked something simpler for Remy’s anniversary gift. She shakes her head at the thought. She knows this is the perfect gift. If she can get this brew right, the pendant she douses in it will be magnificent. Just a touch, and he’ll be able to replay every moment between them in front of him like a movie. It’s a bit saccharine, for Marie’s tastes, but her Remy is an absolute sap. Not that he would even admit as much to anyone._

_Outside, the wind howls. She knows she should leave - hurricanes wait for no one, but she’s worked too hard on this brew to abandon it so close to completion. The wind howls louder. The windows of her shack burst inward. Marie stumbles back, tripping over her own feet and landing hard. She sits up as the cauldron flies._

_Darcy comes to, clinging to a floating log, with a sluggishly bleeding lump at her temple and something sticky, not blood, in her hair. She’s one of the lucky ones - a helicopter finds her before nightfall._

* * *

“Um, Darcy.” Darcy’s smile falters, something tickling the edges of her memory. “I’m sorry, do I know you, handsome?”

The man frowns. “Remy’s been looking for you for a long time, _ma reine_. This old man’s heart might fair break if ya don’t know me.”

Darcy frowns. She knows him. _Why_ does she know him?

“Marie?” Another shocked voice comes from over Remy’s shoulder. One of the X-Men… Wolverine? Logan, she thinks.

“I haven’t gone by Marie since I was kid,” Darcy says.

Logan tilts his head. “You know me?”

“You’re one of the X-Men. Wolverine, right?”

Logan shakes his head. “No, kid, I mean, have we met before?”

Darcy shrugs. “Not that I remember.”

Logan nods toward Remy. “And him?”

Darcy bites her lip. “I, uh, I feel like Ishould know him, but…” She shrugs again, starting to feel a bit helpless.

Remy’s hand rises to her shoulder, then slides down her arm to wrap his loosely around her own hand, fingers lightly brushing over the pair of rings on her left hand.

Darcy suppresses a shiver and the intimate gesture.

Remy smiles sadly, and lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips lightly over her knuckles. Something tingles up her arm, seemingly straight to her brain, and a supernova explodes behind her eyelids. Memories rush back and Marie comes gasping back to awareness, on the floor, cradled in Remy’s lap, letting out a string of curses.

Remy laughs down at her. “There’s Remy’s Marie.”

Marie groans, reaching up to press a hand to her temple. “ _Merde_.” She turns her face into her husband’s chest, inhaling his familiar scent, anchoring herself on it. “Remind me _never_ to brew a potion for a memory charm again.”

“How’s about next time there’s a hurricane, you just leave with Remy?”

Marie nods against his chest. “ _Traiter, mon amour._ ”

Remy brushes a kiss to her temple. “ _Tu m'as manqué, ma reine_.”

Marie snuggles further into him. “I missed you too.”

Remy huffs. “Pretty sure most of N’Orleans has missed you.”

“Uh, Intern?” Tony’s voice comes from above her.

Marie glances up. Most of the Avengers are hovering over them.

“I know we’re supposed to be makin’ nice, Darce,” Steve grins ruefully, “buy, uh…”

“Looks like you’re playin’ a little too nice, doll,” Bucky leers goodnaturedly.

Marie rolls her eyes and nudges Remy.

He stands obligingly and gently tugs her to her feet, pressing up against her back and wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders. Marie leans back into him contentedly.

“Darcy?” Clint asks.

“She prefers Marie,” Remy says.

“Darcy Marie LeBeau,” Marie drawls, inclining hre head. “At your service.”

Clint winks. “Cute accent.”

Natasha snorts delicately. “ _La reine sorcière de la Nouvelle-Orléans_.”

Tony frowns. “The Witch Queen of New Orleans? I thought that was some kind of urban legend.”

Remy snorts. “ _Non_.”

Tony tilts his gaze toward Marie. “Is it a title that gets passed on like the Dread Pirate Roberts, then? ‘Cause those legends go back to the 1800’s.”

Marie raises her chin. “It’s rude to ask a lady her age, Stark.”

Tony’s jaw drops.

**Author's Note:**

> There are several versions of this song, but my personal favorite is the version by Redbone. (Obviously I tweaked the first verse to Marie LeBeau instead of Marie Laveau).


End file.
